Heir of Night (The Thorne Hill)

I pull the flower crown out of my hair and push my curls back over my shoulder as I wait for Lucifer to open the door. He puts his hand over the sigil and whispers something I can’t hear. Red light glows under his hand, illuminating the sigil. A loud creak echoes through the hall as the door opens, leading us into a pitch-black room.

Out of habit, I conjure a ball of bright blue light, lighting up the cavernous room. Cool air surrounds us, making goosebumps break out along my arms. “Whoa,” I gasp when the light hits bookshelves, several stories tall. A narrow balcony winds around the room, with red velvet carpet and Dutch gothic–style, black, cast-iron railings. “Are these all spell books?” I toss the energy ball up, letting it hover above us, and hold out my hands so I can try to get a better read on the energy that’s coming off the books.

“In a sense,” Lucifer says. “The pages are filled with every dark spell a witch or warlock wrote in my honor.”

“He means Satanic spells,” Julian clarifies.

“It’s dark magic.” I lower my hands, fighting off another chill. Lucifer disappears in a rustle of feathers, and I turn, looking around the room. I have no idea how far up the shelves go, but it’s higher than what the light can reach. “Do you feel that?” I whisper to Julian. “That energy. It’s…oppressive.”

“Yes.” He steps in closer and puts his hand on my shoulder. “We shouldn’t stay here long.”

“Right.” I pull my arms in close to my body and look up, trying to find Lucifer. Another few seconds pass before he soundlessly lands in front of us, holding a black-and-white composition notebook.

“This was your mother’s.” He looks at the notebook and smiles softly. “I always appreciated the simplicity.” Extending the book, his eyes meet mine. “The spell to create the portal is in here.”

I get emotional as soon as the notebook is in my hands. Callista Lancaster, Starfall Academy, year 11 is written in loopy cursive letters on the front of the notebook. The ink is faded and a little smeared, but that’s it: her handwriting. Trying hard not to get annoyingly teary-eyed, I open the notebook and flip to the first page.

It’s full of notes about astral projection. So is the second page. And the page after that is about recharging crystals in the moonlight, which is first-year stuff, not eleventh year. I quickly flip to the middle of the notebook and find the whole thing is full of random notes ranging from the most basic of magical knowledge to incredibly complicated sacred geometry formulas.

“She used a concealment spell,” I muse. “Smart.”

“Your mother was always one step ahead.”

“What’s the key?” I look at a page about reading auras, not caring so much about what’s written but more how my handwriting is messy and loopy like my mother’s. There are random doodles throughout, with C+L written inside a heart. For a split second, I think it’s in reference to myself and Lucas, but there’s no way she would have known that. Not at this point. My mother was the “C,” and I only have one guess who “L” was.

“Her blood, which I don’t have. But you are her blood.”

“I am,” I echo and close the notebook to see Julian is holding up his dagger. Crusted demon blood has dried on the blade, and I’m in no mood for a staph infection. “What about a pin or something small and preferably sterile?”

“Check the binding,” Lucifer tells me, and I carefully run my finger along the black tape on the binding of this worn notebook. A sewing needle is hidden in the pages, and I pull it out. How many times did my mother do this? Lucifer said she had good intentions, and I know more than anything desperation can make you do things you’re not proud of.

Finding it annoying to have cuts on my fingertips, I prick my forearm and smear my finger over the little dot of blood pooling on the surface of my skin.

“Put it on the C of her name,” Lucifer tells me, and I do just that. Julian leans in, watching with wide eyes to see if my blood is strong enough to unlock my mother’s dark grimoire. The blood absorbs into the cover, and I can feel tendrils of magic swirling inside. Sucking in a breath, I open the notebook and exhale when we all see it worked.

Instead of notes and cheerful doodles, the pages are filled with spells, both successful and ones that have failed. There are notes about animal sacrifice and blood magic—dark shit that we’ve all been warned about.

“Where is the spell?” Julian asks, taking the notebook from me. He knows how hard it is for me not to let this taint the image of my mother.